Breathing Space
by Blue McLain
Summary: They were careless and their Unsub got them. They were stupid. Now Morgan and Reid have to wait for rescue. But their breaths are numbered. And whatever they want to do yet, whatever they want to say, they better do it fast. M/R slash.
1. It is

First of all: this will be _Slash_! Just so you know.

Second: this was supposed to be a one shot. But it became longer and longer and longer and I thought 'No. No, please. I wouldn't want to read that in one go, either.' So, here it is. A one shot divided into three parts.

Hope you'll enjoy!

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><p>You open your eyes and your vision is kind of blurry.<p>

That is the first thing you notice while you are wondering what it was that disturbed your slumber. Maybe it was the way you slept – you are lying face down on the concrete floor, your hands tied together on your back and your feet, as it seems, tied together as well. Your blood doesn't circulate the way it should and you can feel your fingertips and toes getting numb. Or maybe you are woken up by your own too heavy breathing, the too still air filling you lungs. Or maybe it was just the fact that you shouldn't be sleeping at all in the first place. Great, just friggin' great.

There is not much you can make out of your surroundings. You can barely lift your head, barely move. The light is a dirty orange, too dim to actually recognize anything, really, and could be used in every bad horror movie you have seen over the past few years. The room itself is empty – except for one certain boy genius lying next to you.

Of course. Of course it has to be Reid who is stuck here with you. Who else?

You blink a few times. The room is somewhat hot, the air is heavy and dry and your eyes are dry, too. Your breathing is a bit shallow. Like you, Reid is lying on his stomach, face turned to your direction, hands and feet tied up. Breathing a bit too fast but sleeping nonetheless, it seems.

"Reid," you want to say but your voice won't work. You have to clear your throat. "Reid," you try again, "Reid." But nothing is happening. Groaning, you close your eyes. "C'mon, Pretty Boy, don't make me do this alone."

You shift a little, leaning closer in his direction. "Reid!", you hiss, as loud as you dare to, and this time it apparently works.

His expression changes, from not quite peacefully sleeping to unwillingly waking up. His eyelids flutter open and in a matter of seconds he is alerted. He jerks his head and tries to orientate, his breathing instantly speeds up even more. Finally you can catch his gaze as his eyes find your face and he calms down a bit. He just has to see you and relaxes – that has always made you a little… well, proud.

"Where are we?" Reid's voice sounds hoarse and he swallows hard.

Once more you try to take a look around. Failing. "Dunno," you answer. "Some kinda basement, I think." Just like in all these incredibly bad horror movies. Your tongue reminds you of a dead rat. "God, I feel like I licked the Sahara for a week or somethin'," you mumble and Reid nods slightly, averting his eyes. "You remember what happened?"

A bitter smile tugs on the corners of Reid's mouth as he rolls a bit on the side, still facing you. "He got us", he says, almost a whisper and his smile gets more evident, bitterer and something you cannot put your finger on. "How could we have been so stupid to actually let him get us?"

"Hey now, Kid, don't go there," you say in an attempt to ease the growing nervousness in both you and Reid. This attitude won't do you any good, you know that and you know, too, that he is right, even though he doesn't say it – he doesn't need to. You have worked together for years and come to know each other better than most. You know it but, "It was a mistake. It happens. Just let us – "

"This wasn't supposed to happen", he cuts you off, looking too calm for sounding as shaken up as he does. "We aren't allowed to make mistakes like that. Mistakes like that can turn out to be the last mistake you are ever able to make when they lead to situations like this – "

"I get it. Reid." It's your turn to cut him off so you just do it. "We have to find a way out of here, not to think about how we could've prevented this." You want to free your hands but whatever holds them in place doesn't loose a bit. Must be some sort of cable ties. What a cliché. Where is the creativity in that? Is that really the best your Unsub could come up with? You move your arms a bit, a lot, but all you get in return are burning and stinging wrists.

"Stop it," Reid orders somewhere next to you. He is breathing kind of hard even though he doesn't move. "You're bleeding already, Morgan."

And that you can feel. "Thanks for the advice, Kid," you mutter. "Wait, I think I have a jackknife with me, just…" You cannot reach it and you know it before you even try. Still, you try it anyway, annoyed by the constant repetition of trying and failing.

"I don't believe that you're still having it by now," Reid comments. Most of the time you are pretty satisfied with Reid being a smartass around you, because it means he has enough trust and confidence in both you and himself to actually do so. But right now it seems like a good way to piss you off even more.

"You mind helping me out here a little?," you ask, looking expectantly at him.

He looks right back at you, incredulously for just a moment. Then FBI-training, being a profiler and the mere survival instinct kick in and he starts to move. He attempts to roll back fully on his stomach and suddenly stops, swallowing a yelp as his knee hits the ground too abruptly.

"What?," you ask. "What's wrong? You hurt somewhere?"

"Think I busted my knee again," he answers through gritted teeth and closes his eyes, squeezing them shut.

You mimic his movement, closing your eyes. "Dammit," you hiss. The urge to hit something rises in your chest and your body jolts involuntarily, stopped by your ties. You know damn well how hard it was for Reid to be on crutches, not just because his self-consciousness but also because of all the inconvenience. It wasn't always nice to watch, even though you somehow developed a strange liking for the cane afterwards.

"Doesn't matter," Reid mumbles, taking a deep shuddering breath. "Other than my knee, I guess I'm fine." He exhales slowly and nods to himself, before he continues to turn over to his belly. He represses another yelp and instead makes a muffled noise, much like a painful groan.

Yet he keeps turning, and once on his stomach he rolls over to his other side. Now his back is facing you and carefully he moves closer, inch by inch. He is a genius after all, of course he would figure out what you have in mind without you explaining every detail to him. When he lies right in front of you and his hair almost tickles your nose, you can barely bite back a laugh. How ironic. There he is, kissable near to you – and you are not in any position to enjoy it.

"Which pocket?," he asks shortly.

You cannot answer right away, because… well, in fact, you don't really know. You don't feel your knife, to be honest. But the strange thing is that you are not not feeling it, either.

In the end you look everywhere. Or Reid does, anyway. He shoves one of his tied hands in your front pockets, muttering something under his breath about you wearing too tight jeans and them being too inconvenient for situations like this one in particular.

"At least, I look good in them, don't I?", you reply to lighten the mood but not sure if it works. Turning so that you are back to back, you adjust your bodies to one another, before he shoves his hand in your back pockets as well.

"Doesn't change the facts," he says.

But it's what he doesn't say that catches you a little off guard, and for the briefest instant, while your back touches his back, you indulge in the fact that he didn't deny your words. Not because it boosts your ego that he thinks you are good looking but because… actually, you are not sure. Just because. His fingers on your thighs and on your ass send a tingle to your spine. But his hand remains empty, and it is all the more reason to _get a grip, Derek_!

"Nothing," Reid says unnecessarily, sounding something in the lines of tired, breathless and disappointed. "I don't want to say I told you so but I told you so. We don't have our guns or our phones or badges or even our belts. Did you really think he would have let you keep your knife?"

Maybe you didn't. Maybe you just hoped for it, for a little unlikely miracle. But Reid's words do make sense, unfortunately, and so you decide to let it go. You turn back around to face him again and he moves a little away from you, still with his back towards you. His wrists look like your wrists feel – sore, with cuts and bruises and more blood and dirt than you would like.

Eventually he rolls back to his other side, not without moaning again in pain. When you both are face to face to each other he is panting a bit. But not the pleasurable kind of panting.

"We have to get out of here," you say, more to yourself than actually addressing Reid. You have to get him out of here. That might not be the fairest way to approach this situation, because you know that Reid can stand his ground, he has proven that lots and lots of times. But it is just what you do – kicking down doors, tackling Unsubs, keeping him safe. Though, obviously, you don't always succeed. But that doesn't change a thing – keeping him safe is keeping you sane.

The funny thing is it works for Reid in the exact same way for everybody on the team and especially when it comes to a certain Derek Morgan.

The room doesn't have any windows or ventilation shafts. There are no pipes, no kind of outflows in the ground, nothing. Just four walls, a floor, a ceiling and a light bulb hanging down from that ceiling. That's it. The only way in and out of that goddamn hole is a massive steel door which opens inwards and doesn't have a doorhandle on your side. It completes the image of a crappy horror movie so perfectly that it's not even funny anymore.

"Don't do that," Reid suddenly warns and you lift your eyes up to his face. He inhales somewhat fast but steady through the nose and seems very serious.

"What?," you ask, genuinely curious.

"Don't even think about it," he says sternly and doesn't even give you the time to get completely confused. "There is no way you could kick that door down in your current state. It is highly doubtful whether you could do it under normal circumstances, without being tied up, physically exhausted and probably considerably dehydrated. Right now, it's completely impossible and could be dangerous in too many ways. So don't."

Sometimes it is scary how Reid seems to read your thoughts faster than you are able to come up with them.

"So what?," you contradict. "We'll just lay here and see what happens next? Pretty Boy, we gotta do somethin'."

"And what can you do?," Reid asks. "What can you possibly do other than waste breath and energy for nothing? You would just hurt yourself."

You let his words sink in for a moment. And you find you cannot argue with him about that. You cannot kick down steel doors, not like that, and it would probably only lead unwanted attention to you. The longer your Unsub does not notice that you are back to consciousness, the better.

With a sigh you let you body go lax and try to catch your breath. This is harder than it is supposed to be, considering the fact that you didn't do much to be so out of breath. And Reid is short of breath just like you as you glance over at him. He didn't struggle quite as much as you did against the ties but he is in pain because of his knee. But even with being in pain because of a bullet wound still healing and the room being entirely too hot and everything just being wrong, it is still too much.

"What's he doin' to us?," you ask, because it is the only explanation – even though it doesn't explain anything at all.

But Reid, being the genius he undoubtedly is, has it figured out already. His whole demeanour screams that he has already given in to the inevitable. "Think about the profile," he answers simply. He wants you to figure it out on your own. Maybe because he wants you to come to another conclusion and prove him wrong. As if. But still.

So you do it. You think about the profile. What did the profile say? The Unsub is male, white, in his mid to late thirties. Nothing special, doesn't stand out of the crowd. Blends in completely. Even if he tries, it would probably be hard for him to attract any attention. Physically not enough strength or maybe he is too inhibited or not willing to kill somebody violently.

The victims. Always two at a time. Always a couple. Or more precisely, always two people who could have been a couple, if one of them would have had the guts to speak up and say something. Which they didn't. For what you know, that is the only thing the victims have in common. Only the two victims who died together had known each other. That is the only connection. They had tried to suffocate their feelings for one another, and for that the Unsub let them suffoc–

"No."

You refuse to think that last thought to its end. You refuse to acknowledge the facts, the too hot room, the too heavy air and the feeling of not being able to get enough oxygen into your system, for what they are.

"No," you say once more, this time more determinedly. "No no no. He wouldn't do that. We don't fit the victimology, he wouldn't do that to us, that doesn't make sense!"

"It does, considering the fact that we aren't set up like all the others," Reid says, more like thinking aloud. Set up like the others, for dinner, for bedtime, for something that makes a couple a couple.

"How does that make any sense?," you want to know, your voice slightly high-pitched in your anger and helplessness.

"Because he doesn't care, Morgan!"

The words hang between you, almost tangible for a second. Not because they are unkind or Reid raised his voice to get them out. It's because they are true. While all the other victims were set up in some romantic or otherwise couple-ish way, you two are thrown away like garbage. Carelessly. You two needed to be out of the way. Now you are out of the way. The rest doesn't matter.

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly, as realization dawns in. You screwed up. Big time. The last thing you remember is calling Hotch and telling him that you and Reid arrived at the house of Ralph Barnes, your potential Unsub. While Hotch was urging you to wait for back up, Reid touched your arm and pointed to one of the windows and a movement behind the curtains. You didn't even need words, you both acted right away. There wasn't time enough for explaining to Hotch what was going on. You hung up and went to do what you do best – kicking down front doors. Then both you and Reid entered the house with your guns drawn and at the ready and everything after that is blurry.

Now you are here, with Reid of all people. Somehow, that only makes it worse. And yeah, Reid is probably right, as always – you were just plain stupid. And you cannot breath.

"So what do we do now?," you ask. You are pretty sure you could come up with some kind of solution yourself, but asking Reid seems to be more appropriate.

"We wait," Reid states matter-of-factly. "We stay calm, try to breathe evenly and hold on as long as possible."

"Evenly," you repeat quietly, already feeling that this will be pretty hard to do.

"Yeah." Reid takes a deep breath. "As if you would be meditating. Did you never learn how to meditate in one of your self-defence or martial arts courses?"

"No," you answer, your voice raspy. Leaning forward you lie half on your stomach again, glancing up to Reid. "There we just learn and teach how to be perfectly bad-ass and awesome. You'd know this if you'd get you skinny white ass down there occasionally."

That earns you an short and breathlessly soft laugh, but it doesn't light up this hole long enough for your taste. Still, you take what you can get.

"So." Yeah, what now, Derek? "What do you think? How long do we have?" How long, before there won't be enough oxygen for the both of you to keep breathing, keep holding on.

Reid looks downright irritated by that. "I-I don't know," he mumbles. "I mean, it depends on how long we've already been here and how good the air circulation was before us being here and how much we can slow down our breathing but I… I'm not sure." And with that, his irritation seems strangely understandable.

You nod once and your gaze drifts away from his face to settle down somewhere on the floor between the both of you. A heartbeat later you notice a faint movement from Reid and your eyes find him again in an instant. He shifts a little, before lying completely still. His eyelids are closed and his breathing is everything but even.

"Don't black out on me now, Kid," you say, more a plea than an order, more concerned than anything else.

"'m not gonna black out," Reid mumbles and rubs his cheek on his shoulder, blinking a few times. "My eyes are dry. Contacts are hurting."

Right. That is probably the most harmless thing that can happen to you and him down here. Nevertheless you feel bad for the Kid, but it's not like you would say that out loud. You never do. You feel sweaty and dirty and you goddamn hate it to be that helpless. "You think it's better we stop talking and shut up?," you ask. "You know, for conserving air and breath and stuff?"

You are not sure whether what you see on his face is actually a tiny smile or not. "Maybe," he whispers.

With another nod you shift to find a somewhat comfortable position, taking in some deep breaths with the intention to slow down afterwards. Soon enough you have to admit that this is not an easy task.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears and it becomes louder and louder with every passing heartbeat. And the beating of your heart doesn't feel all that good. It is too forced and doesn't lighten the pressure on your chest. Every breath taken is meant to be the last one that goes so deep, but somehow you cannot bring yourself to reduce your speed.

It is almost scary.

Every time you inhale a part of you fears it could be the last time that you are able to do so. If you cut it out now, maybe the next time you want to try it you no longer will be able to do so.

Your head starts spinning and you close your eyes to stop the world from doing that as well. You can hear your blood rushing through your veins and the numbness in your fingertips is spreading out. Your knees are getting weak, although you don't use them, you feel sick, you feel dizzy, you feel like you could hear everything even though you don't hear anything.

You have to keep breathing, keep breathing, not so fast, not enough, slow down, keep breathing, breathing, breathe.

There is a faint rustling and then there is Reid calling your name. "Morgan!"

Your eyes fly open and for a dozen deafening heartbeats your vision consists of blinding white and pitch black swirls dancing around each other and nothing else. When they are gone it doesn't get any brighter, because something is awkwardly and very uncomfortably beside you, almost hovering over you. Someone. Reid.

Just a minute ago he was lying more than an arm's length away and now, in a split second, he is right in front of you, pressing his shoulder against your mouth so that you have no other choice than to breathe into his sweater vest, into him.

"Breathe," he says then and it sounds almost stupid, because really? What else did you do since you've noticed you can not do so in the long run? You obey nevertheless, feeling his chest rise and fall against you and trying to match his rhythm.

"That's it. In and out, just like that," he soothes and his hair tickles your forehead. Your throat, your lungs, even your chest hurts, burning like fire, and you realize just how fast you must have been panting. But Reid is here, he is calming you down, and you wonder just what you would do without the FBI's very own boy genius here to look out for you.

"Listen," he urges, "you must not lose your head. I know it's a stressful situation and I'm not saying I do any better than you do but we must pull ourselves together. I need you to get through this with me. So no more hyperventilating, okay?"

Amazing, isn't it? How you don't even bother to pretend to be embarrassed by all that? By you freaking out and him calming you down again?

You feel the fabric under you lips getting warm and you can easily imagine how hot his skin under all these layers most likely is by now. You are panting open-mouthed against it as you try to regain your composure again, but you are not embarrassed. Not much, at least.

Because this is Reid.

Reid who would never judge you, never betray you and who would never think less of you or make you feel like you should think less of you. It's Reid whom you trust completely and who has proven over and over to put just as much confidence in you in return. It's Reid. That is all that matters. That is what makes all the difference.

"Okay?"

As okay as you can possibly be in a room with not enough oxygen to get by, so you nod. He pulls away and you lick your lips. It is not helping much – it is too dry, it is too hot, it is just too wrong in every way imaginable.

Reid's clothes rustle and he is breathing through his nose, forced and slowly and entirely too heavy. He is facing you, looking at you, so close that you could easily grab him and pull him even closer – if you could grab him in the first place, that is.

"Sorry," you say, meaning _sorry for the way I acted just now_.

"I'm sorry," he says in the same second and it almost cross-fades your apology.

"What?" You know the Kid has his own speed of thinking, he jumps to conclusions his own way and sometimes no one is able to see the dots until he explains it. Most of the time it does make sense afterwards. But sometimes not so much. "What the hell are you sorry for?"

Silence.

Yeah, that's what you thought. But being silent is not one of Reid's many fortes, it never was, so you are not all that surprised when he answers after a moment.

"It's just… you… I'm sorry that you're stuck here with me," he says, averting his eyes yet again, blinking, thinking. "I mean I know that I'm considered to be a… a magnet for misfortune, so to say. And even though things like misfortune, luck and bad luck don't exist, I know that I maybe tend to be somehow more susceptible to attract some kind of danger rather than the average human being and I just – "

"Reid," you interrupt his starting rant, waiting for him to lift his eyes to your face again. "First off, you are not responsible for that, you hear me? I was okay with how things were handled and the outcome would've been the same anyways and – "

"Anyway," he corrects you automatically.

"_Either way_," you nearly snarl because this is not the point here. The point is that, "This is not your fault, Pretty Boy." Because really, it's not. Reid might be the one who entered the house first and you the one who followed suit. Still, that doesn't mean it would have changed a thing if the roles were vice versa. This is not the result of a mistake he made or you made. It is the result of both your stupidity not to wait for back up.

"What's second?," he asks after a while.

You frown. "What d'you mean?"

"You said 'first off'," he explains patiently. "Therefore a 'second off' has to follow. Otherwise it would be pointless to start with a first altogether."

A smile ghosts over your features, easily elicited by Reid and his need for correctness. It feels deliciously normal. The knowledge that it is not normal, by far, makes your lips getting somewhat thin. "Second off," you answer, hesitating just the briefest moment, "I'd rather be here wi… where I can keep an eye on you."

Reid blinks. Once. Twice.

"You…," he starts but doesn't continue. You have made the resident genius seemingly speechless, not for the first time in your life but it is still a rare sight – and a sight you could be pretty damn smug about. "That is preposterous," he finally manages to get out. "Tha-that's… that, that… that's insane! You would rather be here and baby-sit me than what? Being up there and _safe_ for instance?"

You wouldn't call this baby-sitting Reid but, "Yeah," pretty much so.

He looks absolutely bewildered by that. "Morgan," he says slowly as if telling you there won't be any more doors to kick in. "You do realise that the chances of us getting out of here alive are vanishingly low, don't you?"

"Reid, nobody's dying here today, you get that?," you say promptly, because that is what you believe. What you have to believe for preventing to start hyperventilating all over again. "Hotch knows where we headed, and by now he will know something's up. They're looking for us and Garcia's doing her cyber stuff, checking phone signals and all that, okay? They will find us. Barnes' as good as finished, it's just a matter of time before they find us." And they will find you. They always did. They have to.

"I hope we have that much time," Reid mumbles barely audible. He looks down, then looks right back at you, his eyes huge and innocent and pained. "I never wanted for you to die like that."

And this could have sounded very creepy coming from any other person. Or directed at any other person.

But considering that this is you and this is Reid… it doesn't. It might be a bit strange to say stuff like that but the meaning behind it is so much more profound. You get it instantly and it kind of breaks your heart a little. Because this is Reid and he is a genius. He knows what he is talking about, he knows how it feels to suffocate and he knows how it feels to die.

He knows.

"Reid, listen to me," you say urgently, holding his gaze. "Nobody's going to die. Especially not me. I'm not leaving, not now, not ever. You're stuck with me, Pretty Boy, so get over it."

You wanted to educe a smile from him but it is not working. He is just looking at you, remembering you of what he looked like back then when he slammed that damn glass door shut in your face, locking himself up in a lab with a deadly amount of anthrax.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, just like he did then, and you can not come up with something to reply to that.

Is it just you or are there really some similarities between now and then? Running into a house and nearly getting killed for it, suffocating, losing him, regretting it, regretting that you never… did what you wanted to do. Well, it probably is just you.

But at least now you are on the same side of the glass door as him.

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><p>Well, that was the first part. There is more to come. But what do you think about it? What did and didn't you like? Please be nice and let me know.<p>

See you in a few days! (Hopefully.)


	2. It was

I am just a little bit nervous about this part. A tiny bit. But I hope you'll enjoy it regardless.

This is still _Slash_!

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><p>It gets silent between the two of you.<p>

The light above your heads flickers and gets slightly dimmer. Reid doesn't seem to like it all that much, glancing warily up to the ceiling. You wonder what is possibly heavier, the air or the silence, and taking it that you maybe can do something about at least one of these two things you decide to simply go for it.

"So," you start again, without really knowing how to continue. Reid's eyes are on you and despite everything down here you can almost enjoy it. Having all of Reid's attention (and you know just how much attention that can be sometimes) never fails to delight you. "What're you gonna do when we get out of here?"

There is a pause.

You said 'when', not 'if' and Reid notices it. And he smiles involuntarily as he notices it. And you smile content because he notices it.

"I, uh…" It seems like such a normal thing to ask and yet it seems to catch him off guard.

Situations like this always make people think about what they did and didn't do and what they would do if they would get the chance to do it. You are familiar with that (even though, up until now, you did not yet do what you wanted to, what you intended to do in case you'd get another chance to actually do it).

"Well, I would probably visit my mom," he answers, vaguely, carefully, but a tiny smile still gracing his features. "I wasn't in Vegas for quite a long time now, and she mentioned a couple times that she would like to see me once in a while. I know I don't visit her often enough but it just so happened that we were constantly busy these past few months and…" And the guilt creeps into his voice as soon as 'mom' crosses his lips.

It is true, you were busy these past few months. Actually, you never stopped being busy ever since (or even already well before). But being busy is not the only reason for him to avoid visiting his mother and you know it.

There is also guilt for having her institutionalized and thus for having to visit her there, despite the fact that this is the safest place for his mother to be. And there is fear as well, you think. Because visiting his mother always means seeing what he might become. How he might become.

You have always dismissed this thought as soon as it crossed your mind. It would not be fair, not in the least, for it to happen after all the Kid already went through in his life. You refused to acknowledge that, for Reid, it is quite a possible future. You refuse to believe that in a cruel world such as yours it still might come true, all fairness aside. You refuse – except for when you don't. Except for when you try to see things from Reid's perspective. Those times scare the shit out of you.

You both are silent for a minute or maybe two. Then, "How about you?"

"Me?," you say confused. Remember you asked him a question? Right. Don't lose it again, Derek. "Uh, I guess I should pay home a visit, too. Momma's still sad I didn't make it to Chicago for Thanksgiving."

"Oh," Reid comments with a little laugh, his eyes shining with sympathetic amusement since the next Thanksgiving is almost just around the corner.

"Yeah," you agree, rolling your eyes with a smile. "And Desi, you know, she's got herself a new boyfriend. Sara says it seems pretty serious, so I figured I should go and make a little check up on that guy before it gets too serious, you know?"

"I do," he answers and it surprises you a bit, to be honest. "I mean," he hastens to add, "she's your sister and you care about her. If I remember correctly and I'm sure I do, she is a beautiful young woman, too, and it's only natural for you to be protective of her and not want her to be taken advantage of."

"Right," you say slowly and watch him looking everywhere but in your eyes. Somehow, you don't like the idea of him finding Desirée beautiful, even though you know she is. She wasn't prom queen for nothing.

Neither of you continues talking and it gets silent once more.

Reid isn't smiling anymore. Quite the contrary. His brow furrows and he doesn't look at you. With his hair damp and dirt smeared across his cheek from the dusty ground you can almost see his mind working overtime, working on something that slipped you attention. He gets interrupted by his own cough, represses it, fails, coughs a bit more. It is short and soft and dry and sounds hollow.

He shifts, turning further to his side until he lies halfway on his back, stopped only by his tied hands. It looks like one hell of an uncomfortable position, his muscles tense, his face pained, eyes shut, chest heaving.

"You know," he says quietly, taking a deep breath. "I can feel it. Right now. I can feel the anthrax."

The pressure on the chest must be as bad for him as it is for you. At the minimum. You weren't poisoned by some psycho's attempt to save his country. Reid's recovery went well, but the body doesn't forget that easily. His lungs are still weak.

"Come on, Kid, you have to keep your mind off it," you say, rolling on your side a little to be able to face him better and to stay concentrated. "You're the one who says it starts in your head. Don't let it get in your head. Talk to me."

"What do you want me to talk about?," he asks in a raspy voice.

"Anything." Anything, really.

He exhales and tries to come up with something, keeping his eyes close even as he speaks. "Did you know that one of five Americans move every year? The average American moves eleven times in their whole life, but sixty-one percent stay in the same state they were born in, never leaving it permanently. So your case is not exactly common, considering that you moved from Chicago to Virginia, while, even with the prospect of a job offer, only forty-three percent actually – " He stops.

You hold your breath and harken, thinking he might have heard something you didn't. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, before he turns his head and looks at you warily.

"You're not shutting me up?," he states, more like a question, though.

"No, I'm not," you say, letting out a breathy laugh. "I wanted you to, didn't I?" No answer wanted, no answer given. You look at each other, really looking, for the first time since you woke up in here. "And I kinda missed your rambling," you admit with a wink.

"As long as I'm not rambling about the Death Star, right?" He grins. You do, too, but it fades away too quickly on his side and he loses eye contact again. Your fingers are no longer just numb, they start to tingle in an unpleasant way, like lots of tiny red-hot needles. Clenching your fists feels lax, there is no strength behind it. Not good.

Reid's eyes are red and suddenly they don't seem all that dry anymore. He turns back to the ceiling, staring hard as if trying to burn a hole in it.

"You have any regrets?," you want to know out of the blue, even for you. Honestly, where did that come from?

His eyes twitch. "Excuse me?"

"Regrets," you repeat, because you certainly do have them. Way to much, in fact. And that is kind of funny, because you never really considered yourself a coward. "You regret anything? Would you undo anything if you could?"

Reid stays silent. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "No," he says, then, "maybe," but looks like he wants to correct himself right away. "That's kind of a tough question," he finally thinks aloud. His eyes find you face again, somewhat guarded. "Do you?"

Maybe you have read him wrong the whole time.

Still, you cannot escape the feeling that he is waiting for something. For something beside the rescue. It gleams under all the exhaustion, the pressure and everything else. Maybe it is your own frazzle striking.

"When I… when I was a kid, I burned a photo album of my parents," you say slowly, remembering it like it was yesterday. "It was after my dad died, and the album was full of pictures of him and my mom from the time when they met and fell in love and stuff. I couldn't even look at it, I got so mad and I just… I hated it. I hated that it made me cry like a baby and I hated that it was still there and my dad wasn't and…" Did you ever tell anybody that, you wonder for a second. "So I burned it. I sat in the front yard and burned it, I ripped out every photo and every page and I cried and burned it. I burned every single picture."

Reid's face mirrors the pain you felt back then and the dull ache you feel nowadays. You always liked that about him, the ability to empathize without thinking, without judging. Without losing sight of who you are and what it meant to you.

"My mom found me when the last pics went up in smoke and she wanted to… she wanted to save what's left, but there was nothing left to save." It ended with band-aids on both your and her fingers. "She wasn't mad at me or punished me for it, she… well. She was sad. There were no negatives for these photos, the pics I burned were the only copies. I hoped it would make me feel better, you know, lessen the pain. But it didn't and seeing that it hurt my momma to lose them only made me feel worse. I didn't really get it back then but today I can guess what the photos must have meant to her."

You shrug a bit awkward and Reid cranes his neck somewhat. "You would give them back to her, if you could," he assumes.

"Yeah." You really would. You still feel bad about it sometimes. "Or this other thing with Sara back in high school. She dated one of the quarterbacks, a jock like you wouldn't believe. I'll never know what she saw in him. I didn't like him that much either, so when I heard that he was talking about Sara, I thought I should probe him a bit. Turned out he just wanted to know what it'd be like to date a half breed."

Just hearing these words darkens Reid's expression. Even years after it actually happened and despite the fact that it doesn't concern him, he seems to get slightly irritated for your sake. It is all this that made you let him steal your heart, without him even noticing it. You knew Reid would take good care of it, one way or the other.

"Ended with a broken nose and three cracked rips. Not for me, though." You did not escape unscratched either, but Steve never approached Sara again, so it was worth it. "Till this day Sara doesn't know what happened. I never told her why we fought and the guy just broke up with her without explanation. Well, I guess I would do it again, maybe, but I'm sorry I had to hurt her. She was so angry with me 'cause of my interfering and she threw pillows at me and screamed and…"

Your voice trails of as you notice the look Reid gives you. Almost unhappy, scowling in a very odd way.

"What?," you ask. What did you do wrong this time?

"Nothing," he answers, his expression unchangedly displeased.

"Come on, Reid, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he repeats, but one lifted eye brow is enough to make him go on. "I was just wondering." The second lifted and finally he spits it out. "Why you do things the way you do. Why you keep want to make the world believe that you're one of the bad guys, when as a matter of fact you're one of…" He pauses, shakes his head lightly. "When in fact you're the best guy I've ever met."

You can feel you face lighten up the tiniest bit and your eyes soften. "It's 'cause it makes things a whole lot easier," you say truthfully. "It made Sara just once more mad 'cause of her cocky baby-brother and not heartbroken 'cause of an asshole-boyfriend. And the people who should know I'm a knight in shining armour do hopefully know it by now." It is said with a wink in your tone but you stare intently at him, trying to make him understand what should be so obvious.

He stares back, showing everything, showing nothing.

"And you don't?," you ask eventually. "I mean, you don't have anything you regret you did?"

"Well, no," he says, looking spaced out all of a sudden while switching to his lecture-voice. "I don't think I would undo anything I've done in my life – and that is obviously your definition of regret. After all, the decisions I've made did make me the person I am today and I wouldn't want to change that. Although there are things I probably always will be sorry about" – his mom – "and things I'm not proud of" – that you can guess – "but I am who I am because of them. For me, regret is connected with things I didn't do rather than with things I did actually do."

Makes sense, Dr. Reid, you think, and somehow it seems so like him. Still, you are curious and just have to ask, "Such as?"

"Such as…"

Again, he has to think about it, doesn't seem to have seen this question coming. There is a hint of embarrassment in his irritation now, a shade of sadness. "I mean, I always wanted, you know, kind of wanted to tell you this, but… but, but there never was an opportunity to tell you and you always seemed so… and me, too, I was… I mean, I… I don't know how to do those things, I never really did."

He justifies his words before they even left his mouth. "Reid – "

"Oh, for crying out loud," he exclaims frustrated under his breath, jerking his head away to face the ceiling. "What was I supposed to tell you anyway? Should I have come up to you and just say something like 'Sorry to interrupt, Morgan, I merely wanted to inform you that I have a crush on you, like, since you accidentally called me _Baby_, just so you know'? Right, like I wouldn't be out of line enough as it is."

He stops abruptly as if just now realising that he actually did say what he said, loud enough and clear enough for you to understand in every way possible.

You blink and his mouth opens in shock, he is not breathing for an entirely too long moment. Then his gaze crawls back to you in slow motion and you meet his eyes as open as you can. You are not sure about what you feel right now, but whatever Reid sees in your face keeps him from freaking out – at least from freaking out further.

This is strangely amusing. You always thought he would freak once you scraped together enough guts and confessed to him. Now he sort of confesses to you and still freaks. His breathing continues short and erratic and you know you have to reply something to calm him down and to assure him that this is… well, a good thing. A great thing even, because, with you and him, how could it be anything else?

"I called you _Baby_?," is still the first thought that makes it out of your mouth and yes, it is stupid. But it surprises you nonetheless. You called and call Reid a lot, you are well aware of that – you call him Reid (obvious), Kid (habit), genius (true), Pretty Boy (_so_ true) and probably some other things. But _Baby_?

"Yeah," he mumbles.

"When?," you want to know.

"On my twenty-fourth birthday?" This sounds rather vague as if admitting it would make his previous statement more true. "We were in the bull pen and there was a cake and you stood behind me while I tried to blow out the lovely trick candles. You were probably just caught up in the moment."

You ignore his last comment and focus on the picture that sharpens behind your eyes. "You were wearing that ugly hat Elle had given to you, weren't you?" You remember the candles, you remember the wax on the cake.

Reid smiles unintentionally but happy as if reliving a pleasant memory. Maybe he does – you have seen that ugly hat sitting on one of the bookshelves in Reid's living room. You remember the Kid's awkwardness with JJ and Elle hovering over him. You remember the interruption by yet another psycho. You don't remember calling Reid _Baby_.

"Like I said you got caught up in the moment, no need to worry," Reid says, misinterpreting something in your expression. "It was by accident, nobody would hold it against you."

"I'm not worrying, I just… I mean, that was, what, like four years ago?"

It was. Reid could tell you the exact timeframe, you can easily sense it on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't say it. He doesn't say anything, he just looks at you. "Why didn't you tell me?," you ask softly.

He almost snorts. "How could I possibly tell you something like this?," he asks back. You didn't read him wrong. You just failed to convey the signals that it wasn't one-sided.

"You could've come to me," you say, because even if it would be unrequited you would have been there for him. You are sure of that. "I told you you could always come to me with anything. You can tell me everything. Don't you know that?" It hurts to think he doesn't trust you enough. Even though there is a small voice in the back of your head reminding you that you haven't said anything to him, either.

"Of course I know, don't question that. But this is different. How can I turn to you for comfort when the only reason I need comfort is you in the first place?" He smiles ironically.

"Aren't we friends, Reid? That should be enough reason."

He downright laughs at that. "Morgan, I don't have a _friendly_ crush on you, don't you get that?" It sounds probably harsher than intended and he chuckles and sniffles and averts his eyes. "You know, in the past I used to think that it would wear off eventually, because it always wears off at some point. But it didn't, not this time, with you. It changed but it didn't disappear."

A bitter smile tugs on the corners of his mouth and somewhere between the endless times he inhales and exhales he sighs almost wistfully.

"Actually I never wanted to tell you," he admits. "Well, technically I did want to but I… didn't want to make things awkward between us. So, if we – I mean, when we – in case we make it out of here, I would like for this to never has happened."

"Hah?" You frown deeply, not being able to keep up with his train of thoughts.

"You see, I value your companionship," he explains as if talking about his latest thesis in front of some toddlers. "I like things between us just fine the way they are. You mean much to me as a friend and co-worker and I don't want that to change. I mean, basically I am still the same as I was before and the fact that you know now doesn't change anything. For me. And neither should it for you and I… I… I-I'm delusional, I don't know what I'm talking about," he says suddenly, "just forget it, it doesn't matter."

He refuses to look at you while you are practically staring a hole in his face.

"Well," you answer slowly, when he doesn't continue or even look at you, "too bad, Reid." He jerks his head, fear in his eyes. "Too bad you're such a sucker when it comes to lying. You really want me to believe it doesn't matter?" His lips twitch like he is about to say something and you pause to give him the chance to, but he stays silent. "And to tell you the truth, I don't think I can just forget it. 'Cause for me, it changes pretty much everything right now."

"Morgan, please, I – "

"Shush," you interrupt him and he hushes. And you look at each other a minute and longer, and while your eyes hold his gaze something eases the fear in Reid and fades into concern and uncertainty. His face wants to turn away again but his eyes won't let got of you.

"It _does_ matter, Reid," you tell him. "And it does change things between us. It will. Don't think I would let you get off the hook now that we finally talk about all this, because I definitely won't. And to be honest with you," you add with a lopsided grin, "I'm kinda glad your crush on me didn't wear off. It would've been pretty sad to hear my crush on you was one-sided all this time."

It gets dead silent. Except for your breathing (which is to heavy) and the faint rustling of clothes (which is to loud) you do not hear a thing. It should be so simple now since you both know about your crush for each other ('crush', as if you still were a pair of teenagers), but somehow you get the feeling that it won't be that simple.

"What," Reid says and it sounds disbelieving and weird, because it doesn't even come close to any kind of question.

If he wants to play stubborn or hard to get or dumb, you will play along. "I said," you repeat, "it would have been sad to hear my crush on you – "

"No no no, I got that part," he interrupts you sort of irritated. "But why are you saying this now? Why are you… you said we're friends, so why are you doing this now?" Why are you playing? This is serious for me, why are you hurting me like this? He doesn't say the last part but you hear it anyway.

What do you tell him now? 'I always was a wussy when it comes to you and I never dared to tell you, but now that you finally spilled I want to join in as long as I can.' Yeah, right.

"There's no 'now', Pretty Boy, I al… I wanted to tell you for a long time now, but I didn't dare, probably for the same reasons you didn't. Awkwardness and all. I wasn't sure." Sounds believable, doesn't it? It better does, because what should sound more believable than the truth?

Reid doesn't answer right away. He lets your words sink in. He thinks about them. And, again, he comes to his very own, so wrong conclusion. "Thank you," he says deliberating. "I appreciate the gesture, I really do. This must be tough for you and I really am thankful for your words. But you don't have to feel pressured or compelled to fake affection for my sake just because we are going to die in all likelihood."

This is so Reid. And so dumb. For a genius he really can be such an idiot sometimes – it surprises you every time anew.

"No one. Is going to die. Today," you pant exasperated. "And I don't feel obliged either, can you please stop doubting me, Kid?"

"I don't doubt you, I just don't get why you suddenly want to have that kind of feelings for me."

"I don't want to ha– " No, stop, this is going to come out wrong. Rephrase. "Look, this thing is not suddenly. Never was. And you really want to tell me you never noticed anything? Really, Reid?" The way you glance at him, the way you touch him, the way you talk to him and the way you don't need to talk to him and just can stay silent beside him without getting all worked up or feeling awkward.

"No, but – "

"No. See?" Because it is and was impossible for you not to notice that he noticed, like it must have been and be for him. You both noticed that you both noticed something. You started as co-workers and you became friends, true. But over the years the both of you instinctively became bolder.

You would bring him coffee the way he likes it, more often than not only him. When something upsets you, he would come over with a bag full of take-out and you would talk. After a tough case you would comfort each other with your presence. The bond you both share cannot be compared to anything. Sounds so damn cheesy and absolutely not like you, at all, but it is true nonetheless. He really got under your skin.

"This would be against regulations," Reid says and it sends a joyful shiver through your spine. You are on the same page now – 'against regulations' is exactly what you would want this to become.

"Tell me about it," you respond, trying to seem unimpressed.

"We are complete opposites, this would never work out," he says with a breaking voice. "We don't fit."

"We fit perfectly and you know it," you insist. You don't know why but this has to be. This is meant to be. "Almost everybody doubted we would get along in this team, when we first met. But we did, and now take a look at what we are. Everyone says opposites attra– "

"I don't say that," he interjects weakly.

"We already worked it out, Reid, you know that. We would fit." You do already. The only things that don't fit are the things you both won't let fit.

"This is different, this is not work, this…" His voice is thin and raspy and dies down to a whisper when he says: "You said you wouldn't know. How it feels to be in love with another man. You said you don't know."

Yeah, you said that back then in that interrogation room. "Because I had to," you reply flatly. "You knew the profile, you knew I had to say it. What would you have done in my situation? You never lied, Reid? Never said anything you didn't mean?"

Never said 'I'm fine', when, by all means, that obviously wasn't true. He might suck at lying but there was a time he tried it nonetheless on a regular basis. You both know he did, on more than one occasion. So he stays silent.

You sigh, somehow feeling that this will be the only chance you get to do this right. "You remember that case we worked sometime three and a half years ago or somethin'? Uh, where kids were kidnapped and… tortured and raped and finally got strangled when they were getting boring?"

Not a nice case. Well, it is never a nice case, you don't work nice cases (because they don't exist). But this one was nasty. Reid remembers, of course, with that eidetic memory of his that hardly ever forgets, swallows and clears his throat again to speak. "Yes. Casper, Wyoming," he answers. "Ewan Dwell and Rudy Harrison." He still knows their names. You don't, well, didn't now, even though it was one of the rarer cases where you had to deal with two Unsubs instead of one and some details still creep into your dreams. Your nightmares.

A pause. Then Reid laughs, silently and breathlessly. "The sugar-free department," he snickers, coughing a little.

Exactly.

"Hotch called it a night, telling us to get some rest," you remember aloud. The usual when reaching a dead end. "I was so… tired and I really just wanted to crawl into my bed and pass out. But I couldn't."

"I know." Yeah. Rooming together is always a great way in order to hide being affected in any kind of meaning.

"This shit always…" You shake your head.

"I know." Softly this time. Cases with children always get to all of you. The parents among yourselves. The bullied, abused kids you were. The human beings you are.

"I drove around the town half the night just so I didn't have to close my eyes," you tell him. "And then I got to that little diner and there was this old guy running the show and I asked him… well, I wanted to know if I could borrow some sugar, and… hm." You smile, blowing a silent laugh through your nose. At the time you really wanted that sugar and, after explaining who you were, what you were doing in Casper and why you needed the sugar, the old man gave it to you.

You thanked him and left, pockets full and a little bit more at ease than you were when you started your aimless drive. When you arrived back in your motel room, Reid was already asleep, and this time it wasn't hard to join in.

"And the next day…" Well, the next day you were back in the department with pretty much no breakfast and only hideous coffee to get by (which was even worse for Reid because of the need of his sugar fix he didn't get, because sugar seemed to be rare these days in Casper, Wyoming). You walked up to Reid, who was sitting a bit apart from the others and nipping at his cup. Everyone was down the tubes and it took snapping at Reid for nothing the previous day for you to realise just how wiped out you were.

"You brought me sugar," Reid says, laughs a bit and coughs much more while reliving the scene that plays in your head.

You walked up to him and he lifted his face to you, silently watching, waiting. The atmosphere between the two of you was tense these days, him not knowing what to say after you jumped down his throat and you not knowing how to make him say something again.

So you just stood there, and you wordlessly raised you hand and let rain three or four dozens of sugar sachets on the desk right in front of him. More or less the first sugar Reid caught sight of since you started working this case. Some fell in his lap and he looked down and instantly looked up to you again. And he smiled. Boy, did he smile. It spread slowly, but eventually his whole face lit up and with it your mood did, too. Sometimes, you can still see it, when you close your eyes. You can see it every time Reid smiles, really smiles at you.

You can see it now, gleaming in his eyes. Because of something so trivial as sugar.

"I didn't suddenly notice that I have… that kind of feelings for you back then," you explain. "And I don't… I'm not even sure whether I wanted to come clean with you about… this, that time. But I…" You really wanted to make him smile. You felt bad for snapping at him and you didn't see him smile in days and you wanted, you needed to… well. How can you say something like this without sounding utterly corny? "You always meant much to me. What can I say, it's just… you do, you know?"

Reid studies your face. His smile fades.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn, Reid? Why are you fighting me?," you ask. He almost looks sad when you say this and chooses to face the ceiling again.

"I don't know," he says, brows furrowed in concentration and what? Sadness, really? "It's just… this isn't you. I've seen you, you know, I've seen you work and dance and flirt… you never even looked at me."

"I'm always looking at you." Just like he is looking right back at you. Looking, watching, waiting – too afraid to take the next step because, up until now, there was too much to lose in case you got it wrong.

His eyes flicker across the nothingness above him and his tongue dances over his lips for only a second. "I've seen you dance. With them," he adds and you are sure he refers to those nights out in bars or clubs when the team as a whole tries to remember that you are humans after all. It is not like you would do nothing but dancing on these occasions but you are dancing as well, for a while. Because it is fun, it helps you to relax – nothing more, nothing less. "I've seen you with the women you've danced with and I've seen the way they danced with you. And it's always far from innocent. You… you could have any of them in the blink of an – "

"I don't want them," you cut him off again while he is still not looking at you. You never wanted them, at least not since you admitted to yourself that you have cast an eye at a certain genius. Which is quite some time now.

Reid blinks rapidly and swallows, obviously already running out of his excuses. "You flirt with them, Morgan," he says, trying to sound logical and offhanded. "They are practically drawn to you like-like… or Garcia. Take Garcia. You flirt with Garcia every chance you get, I mean what is that? I know, I understand that your relationship with Garcia is more than mere camaraderie or friendship and that it cannot be compared to those other women, but for you to tell me at the same moment that you… I mean, you never flirted with me and – "

"What?" A breathless, disbelieving laugh interrupts him and you stare at him in the exact same way: breathlessly laughing and disbelieving. There might have been a teensy tiny hint of truth somewhere in everything Reid said before, but now he is just being stupid. "I do, all the time," you say with bitter amusement, because seriously, nobody could have missed that.

Reid, too, did not miss it. And it seems there is no excuse left for him to hide. Whatever it is he wants to hide. He takes some forcedly slow breathes, before he slightly turns his head and looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

"You really mean it," he assesses. "You are serious."

"As serious as you are, Pretty Boy."

And Reid is dead serious about this. Otherwise he would not have come up with all these fake excuses and simply dismiss the whole topic from the very start, because Reid isn't someone to argue about something he thinks is not worthy the time or effort.

His eyes fix the light bulb again and he gulps some barely-there air, lips slightly parted, his neck looking tense and stiff. He closes his eyes, blinks then and eventually exhales defeated. "This is ridiculous," he mutters disparagingly. "I feel like crying but I'm so dehydrated I don't even have tears anymore."

You lift you head a little, as good as you can (which is not very good). "Hey now," you say in a low voice, "why would you want to cry now?"

"I don't know," he says for what feels like the hundredth time and it frustrates Reid immensely. "'cause of this?," he offers awkward, taking deep breaths, and his eyes are red and his voice is shaking somewhat but tears just won't come. And this displays rather the bad constitution you two are in than any kind of weakness. Because Reid of all people is anything but weak. "I never allowed myself to actually think about… about any of this, about what could happen in case I would tell you. I never intended to do so, really, I feared it would make things awkward between us and within the entire team and now you're okay with it and it seems like we've wasted so much time and this whole thing ends even before it – " His voice cracks, he doesn't continue and his eyelids flutter close.

This is not the end. You don't want to think that way. One of you has to stay optimistic, and if Reid has chosen to be the realistic one, then optimism is your duty. You cannot think like that. But it is hard not to with Reid not being hysterical but painfully logical.

Before you can come up with any kind of answer you are already moving. At snail's pace. And you are panting. But you are moving. You crawl inch by inch, on and on, until you are lying next to Reid again. How did he manage to move so fast from his spot to your side just minutes ago? It feels like forever for you now.

"What are you doing?," he whispers tentatively, watching you out of the corner of his eye again.

You wait until you are right in front of him, your bodies lying in an awkward angle but your faces are so close, it is almost too much to take. Strands of hair are glued to his forehead, his cheeks covered with a mixture of dirt and sweat.

"Look at me," you say and you wait for Reid to turn his head and obey. When he does, you can sense it right away – all walls down, nothing left to hide, no need to hide anything anymore. "Listen to me. You listen?"

He nods.

"We_ will_ make it outta here," you say determinedly. "Hotch is on his way and he will find us and we will make it, we'll get through this just like we always get through this shit. I am not gonna die and I won't let you die without this happening." Your voice shakes the slightest way. "No way in hell this is gonna end without us happening." This, 'us', you and him.

The corners of his mouth tremble in a desperate smile. "Then either Hotch or you better hurry up," he croaks and his sight is even worse due to the missing tears. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he says again, his voice breaking again, averting his eyes, squeezing them shut – again. His body turns your way so that he is on his side again, facing you completely, almost by instinct.

"Don't be," you murmur, watching his face, your lips nearly touching his hair as you speak. "Everything's gonna be alright. You'll see." You can see he really wants to believe you, he really tries.

But Reid's ability to be all logical and reasoning is not convinced that easily. So you do the only thing you can think of to support him by leaning your forehead against his, by letting him feel that he is not alone in this. You are here for better or for worse and it is going to be either both of you or none of you.

You force your breathing down and the dizziness back as much as you can. Reid keeps his eyes closed and you close yours as well. This is going to stretch you to the limit and you have to keep this limit at bay as long as possible. And for just a heartbeat, an endless moment, you, too, grieve because of this situation. It took so long for you to muster up the courage to do this, to tell him – now you might be using your last breath to confess to him.

And maybe, only maybe, you think for the briefest second that this – you and him suffocating, just like all the others did, together – does fit the victimology after all. Considering that this is the two of you who never were able to straighten things out.

In a sick and ultimately twisted way this is still appropriate. This is still everything the profile is about. You and Reid.

* * *

><p>Well, yeah.<p>

When I was writing it, it felt kind of alright to me. And now that changed somehow and I'm not sure anymore whether it is as alright as I thought it was. I know... I know. I am so full of clichés. How bad is

The last part should be there next week. Sunday again, I guess, at the latest. Maybe a bit sooner. Until then!


	3. It would have been

Well, guys, here is the last part of what was supposed to be a one shot. Thank you for the comments, the faves and thanks to all who read this. I enjoyed writing it and maybe you've enjoyed it a bit, too.

Still _Slash_! (Like you don't know that by now...)

Have fun!

* * *

><p>The Kid raises his head and looks at you through strangely reddened tearless eyes. To be this close is unusual, but it makes all that surrounds you feel less horrible – because he is here, still breathing, right in front of you.<p>

"This is so… why is this happening now?," he asks quietly, sounding like he is talking to himself.

You are not sure what he means. 'Why is this happening now', why didn't it happen sooner? 'Why is this happening now', this is the worst and most inconvenient time. 'Why is this happening now', where there is quite the possibility that you won't survive?

"You said it yourself," you answer, even though you think it was maybe a rhetorical question. "We wasted way too much time already. If this is not gonna happen now…" Then maybe it won't happen at all. Reid's expression is not exactly guarded but something you cannot pinpoint. "What, you gonna tell me now that I confuse fear with love?" The worry of losing him (which you experienced certainly too often in your life) with every minute you cared about him, you laughed with him, you longed for him.

"Do you?," he asks lowly.

You give a breathy, not very amused laugh at that. "No," you say. You certainly do not.

"Then I don't have to," he replies, a smile ghosting over his lips along with something very similar to relief. "Even though... did you know that relationships, inferred from highly dangerous situations, that relationships like that are more likely to end after a short time, because once the adrenaline wears off and you get the shock out of your system the affection or the... the infatuation you felt in the moment of imminent danger – "

"Pretty Boy," you all but snicker, kind of desperately, kind of hopelessly, shaking your head a bit and thereby rubbing your temple over the concrete floor. "I've seen you… playing chess with whatever poor soul you could find. I've seen you on my couch watching a movie, with Clooney's head in you lap. I've seen you with Henry when he… just believe me when I say, I want you with adrenaline pumping through me as much as without it."

"But right now you refer to situations involving dogs and children and considering the Reid-effect – " He stops his purposely silly objection and grins when you look at him with fond disbelief, raising an eyebrow. "So this is it?," he murmurs as if not daring to get any louder. "I mean, does this aim for the long run?"

"Well, at least I wouldn't call year 'n' years of oogling a fling or a one time thing," you answer off-handedly, and in any other situation you would raise a shoulder, tilt your head, cock an eyebrow, do anything just to show that it is no big deal.

You don't do any of it now, though, and Reid smiles vaguely. He doesn't doubt your sincerity.

Everyone knows you settled down a bit over the years, got calmer. You still turn on the charm from time to time and you still dance with girls in clubs, you flirt with them and with cute waitresses like the one in the coffee shop down the street (let alone Garcia) and you still display what the world calls a 'ladies man', you think. But that's it. You have grown up. You are ready for something real.

And even if it's not like everyone knows – Reid knows. Though he stated those flimsy excuses (which he didn't even believe himself, by the way) just some minutes ago, you know he knows better than that.

That is all that matters to you.

"You an' me, we could do this, y'know? We could pull it off," you say. You are drenched with sweat, your clothes cling to places you never thought were possible and you feel sticky and disgusting like hell. Yet Reid doesn't seem to notice any of it. He looks at you like he always looks at you – like he is really seeing you. It doesn't happen all too often that you feel as if your counterpart truly gets what or who they are looking at.

With Reid, though, it never was any different than that.

"Do you" – Reid swallows – "do you really think it would be that easy?," he asks. "I mean, this isn't just you and me, this would affect the whole team and Strauss, too, and – "

And a Federal Bureau of Investigation full of stubborn bigoted pigheads with their regulations against fraternization and slight aversion for homosexuality.

"What if this would not work out?," Reid asks in a breathless voice. Does he earnestly believe 'not work out' would be any kind of a possible option for the two of you?

"It will," is what you say, without any hint of hesitation or doubt – because there is none.

"What if not?"

"It will." There is no room between you and him for a stupid 'what if not'. Unwittingly you straighten your back, scooting even closer than before. "Reid, we are profilers. We know each other better than most could ever imagine. This is not a joke" – unless you have read him unbelievably wrong – "and I don't plan on starting this just to end it again."

The corners of Reid's mouth curl upwards. "You know, you sound like you are referring to all these 'once in a lifetime'-experiences you read about in novels and see in movies."

See? Do you see this? Now he does start, too, with the movie-thing! How is it possible that this is by any chance not meant to be? How could anyone ever think that?

But you do not say this. You just press your forehead against his once more, closing your eyes, your noses touch each other. You waited entirely too long, but you don't want to think about it, because while it was definitely too long perhaps it hopefully is not too late. And maybe it is true, maybe this thing is a 'once in a lifetime'-experience. The odds are pretty much in your favour so far.

"This would be so dangerous," he whispers eventually, the tip of his nose skimming over your cheek as he moves his head. "So much trouble in case of this leaking out."

It is said with a sad undertone and you can do nothing but to agree. You know the risk – being transferred, losing your jobs if Strauss would hear about it. It would have to be hidden, have to kept secret. But it would not be a secret because you want it to be a secret but because it has to be a secret. That would be just a scrap of comfort, but comfort nonetheless. At least for you.

And you open your eyes and you meet Reid's eyes and you think that, maybe, he feels the same.

"We would never be allowed to tell anybody," he says. "And the team. What about the team? What you… we would throw the entire team dynamics off balance."

You don't say anything to that at first. You can't. You wait one heartbeat, then two heartbeats, and then heartbeats turn to seconds of heavy silence while you remember something that doesn't allow you to agree with him.

"You know, Garcia," you say slowly, already starting to chuckle, because honestly, what the hell? "The other day she approached me and asked whether or not I want to make a move on you before I retire or if it just accidentally happens that you are constantly in my line of sight."

It really is ridiculous and your chuckle rumbles in your chest and it feels strange and an awful lot like a cough. On the outside you are melting, drowning in sweat, while on the inside you are slowly but surely drying out.

Under normal circumstances, you think, Reid would have had the decency to at least look a bit sheepish at your comment. Now he only blinks a few times and processes what you told him. "JJ is suspicious, I guess. Well, sceptical towards me," he says then and looks at you as though it would not be all that surprising with Garcia being so straight forward with you. He doesn't dwell on how he has come to think that JJ might be suspicious. It is not that important and you don't doubt his ability to gage it right.

So Garcia assumes something. JJ as well. And since these women do talk with one another, Prentiss probably does, too. That would explain these funny looks she shot both you and Reid recently whenever she thought you wouldn't notice.

Again, what the hell? "They ain't even profilers," you all but complain, because really, they aren't. At least not Garcia and JJ.

"They are... attentive," Reid offers and you utter a short laugh.

"So what does that mean?," you ask. Does it mean they are okay with it? With this, with the idea of you and him, together? Does it mean they will keep quiet about it? Does it mean they are on your side?

"Maybe it means that we... wouldn't have to worry as far as they're concerned," Reid says.

Huh, maybe. Maybe the team dynamics are safe for now. Maybe the way Rossi smirked at you when you turned the receptionist down was... no, on second thought you don't want to know. Not now. You don't want to think about any of that crap, you want to shut it out and just... you don't know. You feel numb in an unpleasant way and somewhere behind your eyes the room starts to flicker.

"I hate profilers," you mutter. You don't, but you do, because now and then working with these guys can be a real pain in the ass. And sometimes it sucks just as much to be a profiler yourself – you try so damn hard not to profile each other that you seem to dismiss the most obvious things as not important and coincidence and whatever excuse you can get a hold of.

But you cannot just stop to be a profiler, so you have to either ignore it or act on it. And once, ignoring it almost brought the downfall of you all, because the shadow of Tobias Hankel went so much further than expected.

Words die down and whatever you or Reid wanted to say stays unsaid.

You look at each other again. Reid's face is so close, you can almost see yourself in his eyes, reddened and tearless and with more light gleaming in them than should be possible. The tip of his tongue appears for the briefest instant in the corner of his mouth and that is all it takes for you to try and move closer. You attempt to close the gap between the two of you, because it's too hot and because you are not thinking straight and because at worst this could be the last chance you get.

So you move forward and Reid draws back, his eyes toggling between your own eyes and you lips. Somehow you have thought it would be okay with him, but apparently it is not as okay as you thought it would be. You halt.

"Whatever this is supposed to become," Reid says slowly, "I am really very sure that I really would like to brush my teeth before we would do any of it."

Oh. Nice. And you are really very sure that you really couldn't care less about not brushed teeth. Not today, not right now. But how can you say that? You who has to be the optimistic one in your little distress? "Reid," you say and it is all you can come up with.

But it is also all you have to say, because suddenly, just like that, it happens.

You don't know who moved first or who closed the gap, you only know that it is indeed closed and that you press you lips to his just like he presses his lips to yours. Your eyes fall shut.

It is intense but simultaneously it is so different than anything you have ever imagined when it came to this. It's not skilled and it's not sexy and it is barely even a kiss at all. It is a constant touch of lips, a nibble at lips, a try to get used to the feeling of your mouths against each other. So simple, so intensive and as close to perfection as it can possibly be.

After a while it turns into something more like a kiss and slows down to pecks and light caresses, and even after your lips part you never lose contact. Your foreheads touch, your noses touch and Reid lightly sucks the edge of his lower lip between his teeth.

"Uh… I think we should to this again sometime," he says after a moment and his face lights up in a tired but easy smile.

You feel winded yourself when you grin back. "Absolutely," you say. "And then you can treat me to dinner."

"Me treating you?," he asks amused. "But you're not a girl, now are you."

"No, but I would be you date," you clarify.

"Oh, really. And I wouldn't be yours or…?" He doesn't finish and raises an eyebrow, staining his innocent look with something almost teasing.

You have to admit he has a point. "So… my treat, then?"

He laughs a soft and inaudible laugh, a puff of hot breath among hot air against your chin. "But I'm not a girl either," he says and you know that. How could anybody not know that?

And because you know that you didn't say it would be your treat in the first place, even though you would have been okay with it either way, as long as you finally get it going somehow. But that? "So what? I mean, wouldn't it be strange to pay for ourselves separately when we're out on a date?," you ask. You never really done it that way before, a date always meant something… different to you.

"We could, uh, pay fifty-fifty. Or… pay for each other?," Reid offers somewhat uncertain and his smile falters a little. "This sounds a bit… well, it sounds stupid, I know, but I just thought, you know, we wouldn't be the average couple… I mean, if we would be a couple in the first place, that is. So, anyway, in case we would be a couple, I thought in order to make it work we would have to… to adjust the circumstances to our personal standards, so to say and… oh man, listen to me rambling about – "

"Okay, so we try it your way," you interrupt him and he just blinks and nods his okay after a few seconds. It really seems like an unorthodox way, but maybe it works for the two of you.

That of all things really wouldn't be a big deal and you are willing to give it a try if it means it is you and him together in the end. "And we'd definitely be a couple," you say and it lures a smile out of Reid.

You cannot resist to press your lips to his once more. Giving and taking a kiss that is almost as sweet as it is innocent. A kiss you need to be reassuring for the both of you. It is the first time you feel dizzy and actually enjoy it since you have opened your eyes in here.

In the middle of all the menace and the breathlessness, the drought and the heat and the frightening threat of losing him to your last breath, this is almost... peaceful. Calm in a strange yet pretty comfortable way. But your chests rise to much, it reaches to deep and is still not enough. It hurts to breathe, your lungs feel sore, but you have to hold on, you have to keep going.

"You think..."

Reid cannot speak. He cannot swallow. He tries, he fails, it rattles in his throat. His lips are parted and he pants with closed eyes, he is shaking in a desperate attempt to slow down. This is not good. This is so not good. Do something, dammit!

"Clooney would love this," you babble. You don't know what you are about to say, you just want to say something in order to get Reid's attention again. "I mean, you know he adores you completely, it's not as if this would change someday, y'know?"

It really is true, Clooney is crazy about Reid. Much like you are, which is pretty funny – as the tree so the fruit, in a pretty strange sense of the word somehow, it seems. Clooney has always been a… well, you would almost call it polite. He really is a polite dog, always friendly towards your visitors, never openly hostile to anyone. But with Reid, it was a totally different story. Forget the Reid-effect. If it actually had any effect on Clooney at all, then it was the exact opposite.

With Clooney being such a nice and well-trained dog, most of your guests seem to think they just have to pet him. Reid didn't. The first time he and Clooney met, Reid pursued his 'I leave you alone, you leave me alone'-policy. And Clooney _was_ left alone. No scratching behind the ears, no praises of "You are such a good boy", nothing. For the first time in a very long period Clooney had to fight for somebody's attention and, more so, affection. And he wanted it. He fought.

You really did rub off on him, now didn't you, Derek?

"-rgan… Morgan…"

You are so lost in thoughts and dizziness that you don't hear Reid calling out for you at first. He heaves and almost chokes just as you do. It gets worse, so much worse with every passing minute. You feel light-headed and you don't know what that means. You don't know how much longer you can go with that.

"Tell me – "

You pant and try to gather enough voice to speak and it is so hard to focus on his face. "Tell me that you understand that, Reid," you demand somewhat desperately. "Tell me that you understand that this is the real thing. Tell me that you realize that is has to be you." Because it is just like that – it has to be him.

Reid doesn't say anything, but he nods – or so you think. He presses his dry lips together and he narrows his reddened tearless eyes in the slightest way and he nods, something like a sob somewhere near you.

"Good." You suck you lower lip between your teeth, the only thing you can hold onto, and close you eyes. The world is spinning everywhere, even in the darkness behind your lids. "And once we're home we'll get this started and we'll do it right and I'll call you Kid and Spence and Baby and Pretty Boy and all the stuff you won't like. But it'll be okay because it's me and I'll be allowed to call you that stuff."

"Maybe I wouldn't mind it coming from you," he says and you know he wouldn't.

He smiles weakly and you chuckle, and for a wonderful moment you indulge yourself in the anticipation of the first time you call him _Baby _in full awareness. Something that gets out of reach more and more with every taken breath.

"Huh. That would've been nice," Reid murmurs hoarsely, eyes closed, almost appreciative, and you don't know what it is he does – but under different circumstances you would have called it a sigh, probably.

"Reid, it _will_ be nice," you say and you try to sound convincing. But you can see in his eyes that you don't succeed. Who are you trying to fool? You don't know. You can not come up with any reasonable thing to say or to think, your thoughts running circles in your head and maybe this is what passing out feels like right before.

"Morgan," Reid whispers, because in the end, it is even more unbearable in silence.

You take a deep breath – three times to be exact. It doesn't help, it doesn't feel like breathing.

"Pretty Boy, we'll take this as fast or as slow as you want to, whatever pace you set I'm in," you assure him, because it is the truth and because you need to occupy your mind and his mind, too, and what the hell is taking Hotch so long, dammit? "I'd never rush you into anything and I'd never do anything you don't want. But don't be surprised when in three weeks from now you'll come home and find me in the living room on one knee with a ring, asking you to marry me. Don't be surprised when I'll ask you to marry me."

"What?" The corners of his mouth turn up in a disbelieving, insecure smile. Then he laughs and it doesn't sound like a laugh, at all. "You wouldn't do that," he says and shakes his head a bit, and you cannot decide whether he seems daring or defensive.

You don't say anything, you keep a straight face. This is something he has to realize on his own, and when he does and he gets the point, you can see it in his eyes.

"You would." His smile fades with his words, shattering to pieces. "You would marry me?," he asks with a shaking voice and a desperate face that changed so slowly you only recognize the desperation when you wonder just how long he isn't smiling anymore.

"I would," you confirm. "I mean, it's not like this thing I have for you would change anytime soon so I don't think it'd be that big a deal. Whether I ask you now or in three weeks or in three years, what's the difference? We can drive up to Vermont first thing in the morning, if you like, and maybe we'll make it back home for dinner in time."

"… stop…," he whispers, and what are you talking about, Derek? Think before you open you mouth. It's not like you to babble.

"We could try this 'I pay yours, you pay mine'-thing you've mentioned. But my mom would be pretty pissed if she is not invited to this marriage-thing. And she'd want to know about kids, y'know, her grandbabies and stuff. I guess we could stick to Clooney for the time being, but sooner or later, I mean, I think we could at least discuss this. We'd have a lot to discuss anyways and – "

"Stop!"

You didn't expect Reid to still be able to raise his voice that much. Now a faint echo seems to thrum in your ears and there are sparks of blinding light, dancing around the edges of your vision.

"Stop," Reid almost whimpers, "stop, please stop it." He says it again and again and you hear everything he means in it. Please stop, please don't tell me about things I'll never have, please don't make it harder than it already is.

"Reid," you whisper defeated.

A sharp intake of breath. "I can't breathe." Nearly a sob, pressed through gritted teeth in said failing attempt to do so.

The light above your heads flickers again. It wavers, then it is gone completely for a second. Two pairs of tearless, burning eyes shoot up to the ceiling, waiting for the light to return. It does, dimmer, though, darker. Reid looks at you and you look at him, holding onto him with everything you've got. The light goes out again.

"Oh God," Reid breathes.

"It's okay, I got you. I got you, Pretty Boy." Like hell you got him. You feel panic form in your belly, a ball of hundreds and thousands of tiny ice cold splinters that rise in your chest and crawls right between your shoulders. "Focus on me, nothin' else, just me." Let him focus on you so you can focus on him.

You both are breathing so fast, way too fast. Panic shimmers in the space above you, beside you, everywhere around you and your chest feels tight and constricted. You cannot feel your hands or your feet, there are just icy somethings where your fingers and toes should be, and it feels strange, considering that there should be no room for iciness in all the heat that surrounds you.

There isn't much more air left to suck in, no matter how much you try it. Reid's skin is dirty and pale and flushed all at once and his eyes cling to you for dear life, while the light goes out and comes back without any noticeable rhythm.

"It's not going to end here," you pant. When the light stays out for a particularly long moment and it is so completely and utterly dark around you, you have to move only a tiny bit to press your forehead against his again. A flash like a lightning and you see how Reid has his eyes squeezed shut before you do the same, blocking out everything that is not him – the dark, the light, the shadows, the heat. "Not like this. I still have to ask you to marry me, it just, it can't."

There is a huff right in front of you. Reid.

"If you enter into marriage that way, the same disadvantages of entering into marriage as a virgin are bound to occur," Reid whispers, breathing the words against your lips, his tone indicating that he is talking just to talk, to distract, to not let this end. "You don't know what your partner prefers on a sexual level. Sexual incompatibility is one of the top ten reasons for divorce."

"But I know what I prefer," you argue gaspingly, moving a little to be as close to him as you can – foreheads touching, chests touching, knees touching. The flickering above you reminds you of a stroboscope you sometimes see in clubs. "And you know what you prefer. And I'm all for experimenting."

With the flickering just like lightnings and your heartbeat pounding in your ears like thunder it is a bit like being trapped in your very own thunderstorm.

"Would you marry me?"

Your whispered words are hard to get within the noise that is both your breathing.

"I guess I would." The answer is just as low as your own words were. You don't know how much time has passed, the silence cannot have lasted all too long – still, it feels like an eternity.

You feel light-headed to the point of fearing to fall off the ground because it ceases to exist any longer. The question you have to ask while you still can is simple. It is consequential. It is the one last thing you said you have to ask before it can end.

"Will you marry me?"

Somewhere fare away – at least, that is what it seems – you hear a silent ping and the darkness returns and is absolute, like a thick heavy blanket. The light bulb has blown. Now only the thunder of your storm is left, more intense than ever.

"… yes…"

It is just a tiny little word, easily lost in the struggle your heart is getting into. A battle it is not about to win. You almost think you just imagined it, a sweet little throbbing your pulse has sent through your veins. But then, there it is again, this tiny word that means nothing now, not anymore, and yet, it means everything to you.

"… yes. Yes. Yes."

Repeated like a mantra, a beating heart on its own. The darkness around you makes it so easy for you to feel it with all that is left of you to feel. It feels like a dream and if this is what dying feels like, then maybe it is not that bad after all.

You do actually smile right now, so naturally, so at ease. What was it again you say in situations like that? You pant and it is so loud and Reid pants and it sounds like lighting a match over and over. Your heart cramps in your chest, it is fighting and it is losing and it hurts, but you smile. "I, Derek, take you, Spencer, to be my… my wedded husband, to have and… to hold from this day forward, for… for…" Think, Derek, you know the words. You've heard them in every single movie your sisters ever forced you to watch. "For better for worse…" Yeah, and?

"For richer for poorer."

What? Oh, right. For the split of a second you have to think about who is here in the dark beside you and knows what you are about to say. To whom does this voice belong to? But then, of course. How can you forget that?

"In sickness and in health… to love 'n' to cherish… till death do us 'part," Reid finishes, so low, so shaky you almost cannot grasp his words.

"I…" No, not you. Who do you think you are? You have no right to do that, you are not a priest or something. By the power vested to you by whom, Derek? The FBI headquarters of Virginia? Doesn't matter, though, finish it, you are running out of time. "I guess that'll have to do it."

"'s 'nough…," he breathes.

It has to be enough. No rings, no families or friends, this is nothing like you would have imagined it, with Reid of all people. So unbelievable, and he still said yes. So you have to conclude it, before this ends. You have to. When will you ever get the chance to marry Reid again? "May I… now kiss my husband?"

Deafening silence answers you.

The inhaling is raspy, the exhaling all but a whimper, a strangled cry, a plea not to let this end – every time. But there is nothing you can do, nothing left to breathe in. You know that silence isn't right and that there should be something else, but what? You cannot remember. The room is spinning and you are falling, and somewhere far away in the distance, as if reaching you through water, there is… something. Muffled noise like… like people, like something familiar and…

"… yes… yes. Yes. Yes…"

There is this heartbeat again, lulling you into nothingness, and you cannot find it in you to get angry about that. Quite the contrary. You are dying with Reid's lips against your own and the certainty that yes, he would marry you, and yes, he will marry you, and yes, you may now kiss your husband. Your bond is sealed.

What better way to die can you wish for?

A creak stirs up your haze, then a scraping sound on the floor and the door opens inwards with screaming hinges. It bumps against what you think is your foot and you actually groan. You almost lose Reid's lips. The thin ray of a flashlight seems blurred and kind of foggy as it rushes from one corner to the next until it falls first on you, then on Reid.

All that happens in a matter of seconds, it is not even enough time for you to fully process it. Shadows dash behind the person in front of you who holds the flashlight. You can hear various voices whisper something to each other and whoever is standing there seems to almost drop the flashlight. "I found them!"

And isn't that great? It sounds like Emily.

Now it dawns on you to whom the voices belong to, why this feels so familiar and that the voices don't whisper. They are calling. To each other. Clear.

Prentiss takes a step towards you and coughs. She raises her arm to cover her mouth, still coughing, and you know that it is useless, that there is no smoke or gas she could protect herself from. Calling out for help, someone joins her, maybe Rossi. They grab you at your shoulders and your legs and it is indeed Rossi and they lift you up to carry you outside, and you want to tell them no, you want them to take Reid first, this is not right.

It is Reid, whose chest has risen and fallen at the speed of light until it suddenly didn't anymore.

When your back hits the ground again, gently of course, your hands and feet are untied. When did that happen? And Reid is with you, just a few feet away. Hotch bends over him and your head lies in Prentiss' lap. You can taste the cool air around you on your tongue and you know that you are in some kind of basement and that the air in any kind of basement is never fresh or pleasant or somehow enjoyable – but you cannot get enough, you suck in as much as you can.

Reid doesn't.

He is calm, not nearly as agitated as you are. He is very still.

Then (and you are pretty sure it is okay for you _not_ to be okay with that) Hotch who is crouching next to Reid bends over double and kisses the genius. Just like that.

Really, this is not okay. It was you who did that not a minute, a moment, a heartbeat ago. You still can feel it on you lips. It meant something. You both have sealed a bond, didn't you? Reid said he would marry you. He said he would be your husband. This is not okay.

You close your eyes. Breathing still hurts, so much, like someone is stabbing you with a very blunt knife or a spoon. Your heart fights to find an appropriate rhythm. The black and white swirls are back, dancing as ever, and your head hurts and the world is spinning horribly and honestly, Emily, can you please just stop moving? Why is she moving so much? You need Reid's shoulder to breathe into, you have done it before and it helped. It is too much. It is not enough. You cannot breathe.

Suddenly Hotch raises his head, shakes his head and puts his hands up on Reid's chest to steady himself. What is he doing? He puts pressure on it several short times but he doesn't stand up.

A second kiss. The same procedure afterwards. "Come on, Reid," Hotch growls while pumping, "c'mon!" But Reid is not about to do what Hotch obviously wants him to do. He is just lying there, eyes closed and shaking with every movement of Hotch.

And very, very slowly you get it. You get the difference and you understand that what you gave Reid has been a kiss. Now, Hotch is giving him CPR.

"Not working," Hotch hisses, breathlessly through gritted teeth, eyes glued to Reid's face. "C'mon!"

No.

No, this is not right. It was supposed to be either both of you or none of you. One isn't enough. You are here so why the fuck isn't Reid? You raise your arm to reach for him, wanting to call out for him, but his name won't make it pass your lips this time. He is not far away, he is right there, pale and untied and not breathing. The world shrinks and it is only you and him again.

He said he needed you to get through this with him – doesn't he get that you need him just as much?

Prentiss grabs a hold of your hand, she doesn't understand and she is trying to soothe you, but you cannot feel her touch. "I need a medic!," she calls and not a second later there is Rossi, shouting, "Where are the medics?"

Fogginess pervades your mind and the dancing swirls take over. You feel like you are floating.

The next thing you notice again are the stars. You can see them. So you have to be outside. And you are moving. But you are still on you back. On a stretcher, maybe. Something covers your nose and mouth, probably a breathing mask. And it is night. So you must have been down there half a day, at least.

You turn your head and there is Reid, on a stretcher as well and with a breathing mask and people surrounding him, and they are rushing away with him. You feel cold down to your core, freezing like you seldom did ever before.

"Reid," you murmur and it is so muffled because of the mask that you can barely hear it yourself. You lift your hand and even though your fingers still feel strange they try to obey as you want to get rid of the mask.

"Reid, you're not 'llowed to die."

It is supposed to sound firm and determined, but your speech is slurred and you feel dizzy. Why are you here and not with him? "We're married." You are supposed to be with him. In cases like this you are the one who watches over him and waits beside his bed for him to come back to his senses again. "We're gonna get married, so don't you dare die on me!"

Someone shoves the mask back in place and you hear a faint voice, maybe even two, and whatever you are inhaling, it is numbing and easy and way too much.

Reid and whoever is with him have reached the ambulance. Seconds later, they are disappearing in it and with it. In a sea of SWAT men you think you can spot Rossi in his kevlar vest standing next to JJ with a ponytail. She looks shaken up and jerks her head to follow Reid's ambulance with her eyes while Rossi grabs her arms, talking insistently to her. Then her eyes find you and her lips part in worry, and out of nowhere Emily is beside you, telling you something you cannot hear. The stretcher shakes and rattles a bit and then the stars are gone as you are lifted in your own ambulance.

Your mind drifts away. You are sure you are following Reid, and wherever you are heading, you can only hope (for him, for you, for everyone) that he will be there, too, waiting for you. It cannot end and it definitely cannot end this way. It cannot be just you who made it out there, it is absolutely impossible for you to lose him.

You don't want to be a widower before you even got the chance to be a husband.

_**~ Fin ~**_

* * *

><p>This is it... what do you think about it?<p>

That last sentence was one of the first things in my head when my mind came up with the story. In the end, it became a bit cheesier than I had planned. (Or is it just me?)

I thought about making a sequel, maybe, but I'm not sure about it yet. I don't quite know how to fill it, and there are other ideas I would want to write as well, when I have the time to. We'll have to see. Maybe.

I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think! :D

_**Edit:**_

To those who are still conntected to this story:

It's done, my friends. The sequel is done! I will start to upload it in the next few minutes/hours and just wanted to let those who are still linked to this know that you can find the sequel now on my profile. It's called "Breathing Again".

I will delete this note in a few days again and put an edit in chapter three of this story. Just wanted to let it pop up in your boxes to inform you, so that you can take a look, if you want to.

Hope to see some of you again, soon. :)

Bluey


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